Not the talking box
by fernland
Summary: AU: After the war, Hermione decided to take some history classes at Durham University. What she didn't know was that the housing coordinator at the Ministry's new Muggle Cultural Immersion Program put Fleur Delacour in the same apartment building! Adventures in muggle-dom and an unexpected mystery ensues. Fleurmione.


**A/N: I didn't intend to start a new fic with all of my unfinished ones haunting me, but this just fell out of my head. It will be short little mystery of sorts... if I get my act together that is. **

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><p>Hermione awoke at the loud banging on her door. It had an all too familiar tone of the last time Fleur was upset, hence the annoyed expression on Hermione's face when she let the witch in.<p>

Fleur rushed past Hermione and then waited expectantly for the brunette to follow. Hermione sighed; everything Fleur wanted seemed expectant.

"Did you fall asleep reading on the couch again? It's only 7," Fleur said, her arms crossing as she examined the state of Hermione's disheveled hair.

"Have you intruded on my studying once again, Fleur?" Hermione walked past Fleur and flopped on the couch.

"I had to come, Hermione. My flat mate is watching the televis...the telev—"

"Television," Hermione completed. For someone as graceful and learned as Fleur, for some reason muggle terms never quite stuck with the veela.

"Yes! She will not stop!"

"Fine, sit down. I"ll make you some tea."

Fleur pushed books to the side and sat in a little space she carved out for herself on the couch. "Non, I want wine." She lifted her hand, but before she could complete the motion, Hermione was at her side, her hand grasping Fleur's.

"Fleur, no magic! We signed a contract!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," Fleur said, deflated.

"We need to be careful," Hermione explained for the millionth time; the veela was so impulsive!

"Thank you, Hermione, " Fleur replied. "I think that muggle talking box has affected my thinking." She leaned her head back on the couch, releasing a long sigh. "Finally peace!" Fleur said, absently bringing Hermione's hand into her lap.

"Fleur, I need my hand back if I am going to get wine from the kitchen."

"Yes, of course." Fleur opened her fingers.

Hermione moved her hand away confused, as she usually was when Fleur showed affection. Why couldn't the veela easily find 'peace' at a park, or somewhere else besides her flat? Somehow it became a routine though; first the insistent door knocking, followed by the sighing and Fleur's want of wine.

Hermione had to admit to herself that after a couple of glasses, the atmosphere would tend to shift nicely. The two women would share things, the type of things that come out of one's mind late at night after wine and hours spent getting comfortable. Inevitably though, Hermione would listen to a reluctant part of her that couldn't fully invest in the veela, not after hearing how she dropped Bill as she did. Also, Fleur hadn't adjusted to muggle life very well, causing her more obnoxious qualities to float to the surface—more often than not.

The veela came to Durham at the request of her employers at Gringotts. It didn't really make sense to Hermione though, being that Fleur was their master curse-breaker. Why would they send her for professional development in muggle economics? It also seemed that Fleur never studied. But whenever Hermione brought it up, Fleur would side step the conversation.

"Hermione, the muggles and their miniature computers! Why do they always have to carry tiny internet boxes?"

"They're called smart phones, Fleur."

"Smart phones! But they can't even manage to cross a street without almost getting hit by cars! How is that smart?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Drink your wine. You'll feel better."

"I just don't—" At that moment Fleur paused her tirade because that's what one does when they hear a blood-curdling scream. "That doesn't sound like a talking box, Hermione."

"No, it does not." Hermione took her wand out from under the cushion she was sitting on.

"Really? You keep it there?"

"Shut up, Fleur and follow me."

Hermione led Fleur out her door and into the hallway. The scream came from an apartment that shared a wall with Hermione's flat. She knocked on the door and there was no answer.

"Cover me. I'm going to open the door," Hermione ordered.

Fleur stood in front of her and coughed as Hermione whispered an unlocking spell. Hermione turned the knob and opened the door. What she saw turned her stomach; a woman was slumped over on a couch. They had just heard this woman's scream, but for some reason, her skin looked as if she had been dead for days.

"Someone used dark magic on this person," Hermione said, her eyes traveling around the room.

Fleur walked past her. "This window is broken. Most of the glass is on the outside. Why wouldn't the wizard just disapparate?"

"Maybe they became weakened somehow and didn't have the strength. Fleur, we might be able to catch them if they're injured and unable to apparate. Let's go."

"Non, we have to go to the Ministry. Now," Fleur said, grabbing Hermione's hand.

"But wh—" Hermione didn't get to finish her question before she felt the familiar pull.


End file.
